I have to get this mourning for David Carradine on paper. My close friends, the ones who read this journal, already know what his influence meant to me, but I feel I have to say more and go deeper. Bear with me. I need to do this.
( LJ cut for long-ass sobbing )As anyone who's been frequenting the celeb forums, or has read my LJ will know, David Carradine is dead and I'm broken up about it.
I was a big Kung-Fu fan, loved Master Kwai Chang Caine. I have his Spirit of Shaolin book. (It's part autobiography, part philosophy, part guidebook to the martial-arts styles of the world.) It's even autographed. (My friends went to a con and met him, and Stacey traded me my un-autographed copy for the one she got signed. Bless.)
It was one of the first really spiritual books I ever owned, and I count it right up there with my magical texts. There was enough of the Tao and I Ching for me to grasp . . . something, but just little enough of it to make me seek further.
In short, there's very little of my Taoist magazines or texts that I read where I don't imagine David Carradine's voice, or don't see them filtered, at least a bit, through Kung Fu. I can't help it. With guidance, and spiritual inspiration, I think what they also say of sex is true. You never forget your first.
Speaking of . . . if it turns out David died of a failed attempt at auto-erotic asphixiation, like they're postulating, I'll actually be okay with it. At least that means he wasn't suicidal, and hadn't just given up. Besides, if you're that age and can still use it, you should. Then again, people think the whole idea is twisted. Meh, everyone's got their kinks, even if they never act on them. If that was, indeed, what he was trying to do, his kink just happened to be dangerous.
If it was suicide, I'll break into fresh tears, and if it was murder, like his family seems to think, I'll be outraged.
In any case, the world has lost a decent and extraordinarily interesting man.
This was kind of my "Good-enough-for-the-public" edit. I never spoke of my attraction to him, that would have disgusted too many people. My "Die kinky, if you're gonna die." comment, I thought was off-color. And mentioning that it hurts as if he was someone that I knew personally, too crazy-fangirl for prime-time.
(From way back in the day.)
When was this? 1997, I think. 12 years ago. *Sighs.*
Who I Chose, and Why I Chose Him
A teeny-weeny little personal essay by
Julie Hodges
The question has been raised. Who, exactly, is my favorite character in Kung Fu: TLC? Is it Peter? Is it Kermit? Being friends with the both of you (Chaz and Anastasia), it seems that I must make a choice or face the consequences.
Hair. Yes, I know you're groaning about the triviality of the subject, but anyone who knows me knows hair has always been a major factor for me. I like Kermit with his long hair (fourth season), and yet, Peter's hair is also nice. However, it has never been a secret that I like long hair very much.
I have always tried to take the path of the less obvious when choosing my favorite male in any given group. I mean, look at Steve Clark. In case you didn't know, and most of you probably didn't, he was the guitarist in Def Leppard who passed away in 1991. A magnificent, shy artist with long, blond hair. I was, and still am, enamored of him. He was a good- looking man, but he wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, the band's sex symbol. He also was no Brad Pitt. This would indicate that I would have definite leanings on the Kermit side. (What? I didn't think kermit was a great looking guy? Of course I did, but he just wasn't so fucking obvious as Peter.)
Then again, when choosing from a show full of men, none of whom is exactly my type, I would have to delve into further criteria than looks alone. I go back to Steve again, as my yardstick. By no means was he the best-looking man I've ever seen, but there is a spark there, which ignited when I first saw him, which made me fall in love. Why? He was sensitive, and shy, and very sweet. There was also an element of infatuation there, something that drew me in that I could never quite put my finger on. You know me and the quiet type. I've always preferred the artist rather than the fighter. Look at Stargate. The character of Daniel Jackson made me fall in love with James Spader, because he was a gentleman, and sensitive, and intelligent, endearing. Yes, endearing, that's the word. It's incredibly likely that I wouldn't like him had I seen any of his "yuppie scum" movies first. I have a soft spot for guys who can look sad, and do it well.
Peter, or Kermit, then, Peter or Kermit? Peter is passionate, which I like, but I like Kermit's wry, devil-may-care humor, too. Yeah, but what about me as the artsy, hopeless romantic? Sure, Peter's the ladies' man, and Kermit's enigmatic and engaging. Who to choose, who to choose? Well, you know. I saw "The Laquered Box" with Stace the other day, and that cinched my decision.
I picked Caine.
Yes, yes, I know what I said about his being old, but you have to think about it. He's exotic, he's intelligent, he's artistic and sensitive. He has an element of magic about him, and you know me and magic. It is, rather a Zen decision: it makes no sense, and yet, it makes perfect sense, after all.
Besides, you've got Sean Connery and Patrick Stewart, why can't I have an older guy on my list?! (Ye Gods, defensive much?)
It just goes to show that a woman can be touched more deeply in her heart than she can in her hormones.
That little tidbit seemed to be explaining more what was my type of guy than why I picked Caine, but the description was there. I suppose I was trying to explain something to myself just as much as I was to anyone who might have been reading. Somehow, I was trying to put Caine/Carradine into a context with the rest of the guys I liked at the time, seeing if I had a type. I know now that each man has his own context, and if he resembles the others in any way, it's just coincidence.
What I say now . . .
I've toasted him at dinner, burned candles and incense, went and contemplated the lake in his honor. I plan on putting out a candle, Shaolin-style, for him, if I still can. Hell, I may just pull out my bashed-up old Caine hat and wear it. I can't look at "Spirit of Shaolin" right now; it hurts too much. It feels like I've lost a long-absent, but much-beloved teacher.
I remember when I was the "Caine" of our group. It was one of the first times I really tried to emulate someone in order to better myself. When I was deeply connected with him once, I found myself worried by my first white hairs. At that time, Stacey laughed and said, "They're like Caine's. You're just getting wiser." I hadn't had a white hair since then. Until Thursday morning, no lie. I pulled it, thought about what Stacey had said on the last momentous occasion that happened, felt grateful it was a pretty white (Somehow, I want to be an old woman with the really white hair.) and threw it away. Thursday arvo is when I heard about David. I Believe in magic, so I can't call it a coincidence. I really don't want to.
Knowing how he (and this was David, not Caine) said: "Everything furthers", I can't believe he took his own life. He seemed a restless soul, an itinerant, journeying contradiction of a man, but I don't think he would deliberately cut his own road short.
Bless you, Master David. All of my love, and may the Tao embrace you as you tried to embrace it; not an easy thing for a man to do. Gods willing, I'll meet you face to face one day.</div></div></div>